Support Systems
by SuperKateB
Summary: It's amazing what it takes to bring all sides of a support system together in one place at one time. (BugNigel.)


"**Support Systems"  
****A Crossing Jordan Fanfiction  
****In the "Strange Bedfellows" Universe  
****By Kate "SuperKate" Butler**

There were, at the very least, a hundred and twenty people at the funeral of Beatrice "Bea" Pullum when her youngest nephew arrived.

The London sky hung low overhead, a dismal gray-blue color that had threatened rain since British Airways Flight 0226 touched down at Heathrow International Airport that very morning. Bug, dressed in his favorite black suit and tie, had grunted at the dark firmament when they'd emerged from the terminal and into the taxi bay, groping for his umbrella. "Fitting weather," he'd commented off-handedly.

Nigel had said nothing.

When the phone had rung at just after two a.m. that previous Monday, he'd known immediately that something horrible had happened. No one, outside of his family and, occasionally, Bug, called his landline, and – with Bug clutched possessively in his arms and snoring lightly – Nigel had found it very hard to believe that he was the one on the other end. He'd groped blindly in the dark for a good five rings before actually finding the blasted receiver caught between two cushions on the couch.

He'd barely pressed the "on" button before the voice started on the other end. "Nigel, it's Geri. I have some awful news…"

Sometime after the conversation – short and stressed and awkward – ended and before the light of dawn broke through the slats of the living room blinds, Bug wandered in and sat down on the couch at his side. He'd leaned into the warmth and they, together, spent the morning in silence. Nigel was fairly certain that his cursing and carrying on while he'd searched for the phone had woken the other man up; Bug never asked what the call had been about, even when he filled out a request form for three day's vacation and handed it in to Garret, citing "family emergency" as the reason.

Garret's eyes had searched Nigel carefully when, ten minutes later, he, too, handed over a request form, but he simply nodded and filed it away in the appropriate folder before wishing him the very best.

The long flight to London had been awkward and silent, his hand clutched possessively around Bug's as they napped or watched the in-flight movie. Neither spoke; neither knew, it seemed, what to say.

Nigel found it silently funny, really, that two grown men could work together, every day, at a place of death and still not be able to know how to address a death touching their own lives.

Now, they stood silently just inside the door to the worn-out funeral home on the East End, Bug shedding his coat and ridiculous umbrella in a moment of awkward, preoccupying activity while the much taller man stood in the foyer, glancing around. The sea of people mingled and chatted in the lounge and into one of the viewing rooms, and he found himself swallowing hard.

Someone touched his arm, and he nearly leapt out of his skin before he realized that it had simply been Bug. He held out an arm. "Your coat?" he questioned, tossing his head in a half-hearted gesture and indicating a nearby coat rack. "I'll hang it up."

"Thanks," he nodded, and shed the excess material like an unwanted second skin. He watched as Bug weaved his way through the small throng of people, smiling helplessly at a few who patted him on the back and thanked him for coming. Every gesture was awkward, but he was there. At the funeral home, in London, with him.

Nigel's gratefulness was second only to his grief.

"There you are," scolded a soft, feminine voice, and Nigel glanced down to see a twenty-something young woman standing at his side, hands on her hips and bright eyes peering up at him. "Mum was getting worried, you know. Thought maybe you'd gotten lost on your way."

"If only she were so lucky, Bevvy," he chuckled, and they hugged briefly. "How is your Mum? And your Uncle Thomas?"

"Uncle Tom as intolerable as always, don't you worry, and Mum… She's been better." She pulled away from the hug and shook her head. "She's going to be glad you came. Even your Da, he's been waiting to…" She trailed off, and her eyes suddenly drifted to something beyond Nigel. "And who is this?"

Nigel turned to look and found himself somewhat surprised to see that Bug had rejoined him, blissfully unburdened by coats and umbrella. One of his eyebrows arched, a silent question. "Oh, yes, Bug, this is my sister Geri's daughter, Beverly. Beverly, this is…" He paused slightly. "This is Bug."

"Ah, so you are the doctor from Boston." She offered forth her hands, and they shook amicably. "Mum mentioned that you'd be coming. You're quite fetching, aren't you?"

"'Fetching?'" he repeated blankly.

"What? Would you rather me call you 'bloody hot'?" She flashed a small smile before casting her gaze up towards Nigel. "You should go see Mum. She's worried about you."

"I'm sure." He patted her briefly on the shoulder and landed a short peck on her cheek. "Thank you, Bevvy."

"Don't you start." She swiped at him as he wandered past. "Nothing worth thanking me for."

The two men meandered slowly through the mass of faces, both familiar and unfamiliar. Nigel found himself shaking hands and accepting hugs from no less than ten complete strangers, and yet found some small comfort in the gestures. Bug received a surprising number of handshakes and pats on the upper arm, which he returned stiffly and with a bold, if slightly forced, smile. Two children chased one another, dashing past. Seconds later, their mother rushed after them, shaking her pocketbook and scolding loudly.

Somewhere in the mass of others, Nigel's hand found Bug's, and what he'd meant to be a brief, hopeful squeeze somehow became an interlacing of fingers that refused to part.

The viewing room itself was, for the most part, empty, sans a small smattering of blue-haired octogenarians in one corner and a group of individuals – mostly tall and dark-haired – gathered towards the front of the room. Just beyond them, the casket sat, raised on a step and open to reveal a placid, pale-faced old lady with gray-white curls.

Nigel's mouth dried instantly, and he found his grip on Bug's hand tightening. A thousand years of working with dead people could not have prepared him for this.

"Nigel! Oh, goodness, Nigel!" a voice suddenly called out, and he was barely able to tear his eyes away from the casket in time to see his sister rush up to him and wrap her arms firmly around his neck. He nearly lost his balance as he returned the gesture, squeezing her tightly around the waist. "I'm so glad you could make it! I was so worried you wouldn't be able to come, what with your work and everything!" She pulled away from his shoulder and sniffled, brushing dark hair and tears from her face. "I'm so happy you're here."

He smiled weakly and swallowed for what felt like the thousandth time, leaning forward to catch her cheek in a kiss. "Love, I wouldn't have missed this for all the bodies in Boston." They parted slowly and he gestured to his companion, who had stepped away in the course of the hugging and was now idly glancing at one of a number of photos displayed about the room. "Geri, this is Bug. Bug, this is my older sister, Geraldine."

"Oh. Hi." Bug's awkwardness increased exponentially as he set the photo back down on the table and offered a hand to Nigel's sister. In her mid-forties, she looked like a curvaceous, shorter, female version of her younger brother. "It's a pleasure to – "

"It's so good of you to come!" she announced, and before he could do anything, the short man was pulled into a tight hug of his own. He smiled weakly and patted her on the back, uncertain of the appropriate reaction. Nigel's face curved into a smile for the first time in days as he watched Geri pull away and put her hands on Bug's cheeks. "I wish we could have met under better circumstances. This is a dreadful way to meet the family."

Bug fidgeted slightly, his dark eyes darting up at Nigel in an unspoken question of what, exactly, he should do. Nigel shrugged. "Yes, well… Me, too," he finally agreed, nodding briefly. Geri released his cheeks and moved, instead, to rub his upper arm. "I'm glad I could be here, though."

She grinned and retracted her hand. "Me too. And my brother is right – you are a charming young man." She leaned in and landed a kiss on his cheek – causing Bug to flinch slightly – before returning her attention to Nigel. "Now, I'm going to go find Bevvy and drag her back in here. Now that you're here, the minister can hold the private ceremony for our family." Her dark eyes flinted slightly. "Don't you wander off, now."

"Me?" Nigel smiled roughly, hoping to hide the sadness in his voice with the gesture. "I never wander off, Geri. You should know that."

"Oh, bah!" Geri laughed, shook her head, and then took off towards the door, a bustling, blurred motion of black dress and dark hair.

Bug straightened his tie and forced a smile. "She's nice," he decided, peering up at his better half.

"I'm sure she utterly terrified you, but that's alright." Their eyes met, and he frowned slightly, his stomach churning for what seemed to be no good reason. Then, seized suddenly by something that was like grief but wholly without, Nigel hugged Bug around the shoulders and held him firmly. "Thank you, Buggles."

For a moment, the shorter man froze in his arms, relaxing only after a few seconds. "What for?" he questioned, resting his head against Nigel's chest as his arms moved to loop around his slender waist.

"For being here, and for tolerating the last few days," he replied quietly, resting his chin on the dark head of hair just below it. His voice dropped to a whisper. "I love you, pet."

They split slowly apart and Bug smiled softly, nodding. "I know you do," he replied quietly. His dark eyes drifted towards the open casket, and his expression softened immediately. "You were close to your aunt?"

Nigel, too, moved to face the display – a gleaming, polished casket, touched with golden inlays and surrounded on almost all sides by collections of bright, sweet-smelling flowers – and nodded slowly. "After Mum died, Auntie Bea was really the only one around to help look after us," he sighed, his voice catching in his throat. "She was my father's sister, and lived with us until Tom started university. Even after she left, we still visited and wrote." His hand found Bug's again, a soft, tactile comfort against his skin. "She raised me, in her own way."

For a moment, neither spoke, and Nigel could tell without looking that his companion was busily searching for the right words. "She did a good job, your aunt," Bug finally said, squeezing his hand. "I'm sure she was a lovely lady."

"She was, Buggles. She really was." The words choked, and he bit the inside of his cheek hard in a futile attempt to keep from crying. "Can I… Can I have a moment alone?" he questioned softly.

Bug's eyes searched him in silence for a few seconds, and then, he nodded. "Of course."

Nigel watched him as he wandered back towards the display of photographs and sighed miserably after him. A hasty dab at his wet eyes with a handkerchief dried them, and suddenly he found himself standing in front of the casket, staring down at the placid form. His stomach sunk, and he tightened his fists at his sides. No words came into his mind, just a raw flow of emotions, and he felt as though his very heart might –

"Remind you of your mum?"

Glancing over his shoulder, he smiled softly and shook his head. "A bit," he admitted, swallowing around the enormous lump in his throat. His eyes drifted forward once again, and he sighed. "How are you, Dad?"

The tall man beside him took a few steps closer until they were standing arm-against-arm in an awkward silence; a passing glance up at the slightly-taller man reveled circles and lines in his father's face that Nigel had not remembered the last time he'd been to London. Once-dark hair that had only been peppered with gray was now fully gray, and thick glasses sat low on a pointed nose. "I'm alright," he admitted, shoving his hands into his pocket. His eyes remained focused forward, and he studied the casket with dull eyes. "Bea had been ill for a long while."

"Geri said as much," nodded Nigel. He pursed his lips briefly. "She's at peace now, though."

"Like your mum," his father agreed. He glanced down at his son and smiled weakly, and Nigel returned the gesture sheepishly. "I saw you and your…friend, over there."

The small smile disappeared, and he hardened his expression. "You did?" he asked, trying desperately to sound nonchalant. His own gaze flicked back to Bug, still flipping through photographs. He frowned. "Da, I – "

"He seems like a nice man," the older man continued, still focused on the casket. Nigel's eyes widened and he whipped his head around to gape at him. "At least, Geraldine seemed to like him, and I've always felt that Geri was an excellent judge of character."

He snorted and smirked slightly. "With the exception of her ex-husband," he pointed out lightly.

"Yes, well, I can allow her one youthful indiscretion." His father smiled slightly, and two pairs of brown eyes met silently, neither man daring to speak. Finally, he sighed and smiled sadly. "I'm glad you came, Nigel."

He smiled back, and this time, it didn't fade. "I am, too," he decided, nodding. "Da, I – "

"I know." The older man clapped him on the back, a friendly, warm gesture. "Me, too."

Nigel moved to speak again, to add something to the interaction, but the doors to the viewing room burst open at that moment and Geri rushed in, a black-robed minister following at her heels. He watched as his father turned and went to greet the preacher, gathered Bug to take their seats with the rest of the family.

As the minister moved to the small podium that had been set up just in front of the casket itself and began flipping through his Bible and assorted papers, Nigel scanned the sorted group. His brother Thomas, a few cousins he barely knew, Bevvy, and Geri were all settled into their seats, some armed with tissues while others remained silent and stoic. To his right, his father – straight-backed and recalcitrant as ever – made no outward show of emotion, even as Geri clutched at the arm of his suit coat with a white-knuckled hand. And to his left, Bug – silently supportive – rested his hand just atop his knee, comforting him without words.

And despite the overwhelming grief in his heart, the flowing streams of pain and sadness filling his heart before tumbling out through his tear ducts, Nigel Townsend couldn't help it.

"Of all the things I've heard Bea called," the minister began, "'supportive' has been the most resounding."

He smiled.

**Fin.**

**Disclaimer:** Crossing Jordan and all related characters are property of Tailwind Productions and NBC. The handful of characters I made up, however, are not. Though I will trade having a beer with the cast of CJ for said characters, if anyone's interested.

**Author's Notes:** Once again, I take great liberties with my favorite characters. This fic was born shortly after I saw the episode "Family Ties," in which Nigel mentions his Auntie Bea, a nameless brother, and his ugly relationship with his father. I got to thinking what would get Nigel to visit his family, and the solution to that question happened to be in this fic. I admit that I cheated a bit; I created Bevvy in my mind some weeks ago and was just looking for an excuse to use her. Otherwise, there is some canon evidence for Nigel at least having a brother, if not a sister too, and we all know about his father.

I apologize for blowing canon if canon was blown, but it was a good story and worth sharing.

"Strange Bedfellows" is my version of the universe in which Bug and Nigel are an established couple. I have a full continuity featuring the two guys, but this fic doesn't really fit into the continuity anywhere. It's just in that world, in which the boys are together and happily in love. And that is all she wrote.

April 10, 2005  
5:06 p.m.


End file.
